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It's an explosion, a container shut too tightly for air to flow freely that's only been accumulating tension until someone throws it against a wall after ridiculously wondering what would happen. It'll blow up, that's what, Jisung thinks bitterly, and something will crumble. And you'll lose an eye, or a leg. In his case, what's lost after the thunder is a truth Jisung had built his life around for almost two years now: that he and Jeongin would be friends forever.
The metaphorical match lights up the moment Jisung puckers his lips and starts leaning in, and the fire reaches his flammable heart when, for the first time in a long while, Jeongin reacts too slowly to avoid contact. An eager, playful mouth meets the soft, warm skin of a cheekbone, and the detonation is immediate. Utter chaos unleashes within him: Brain hits the big, red button for emergency cases and panics because no one is responding— everyone's been fucking obliterated by the bang— and the explosion left its ears ringing. What the fuck is going on? What the fuck is—
"Ah, gross," Jeongin pushes him off with a disgusted twist of his features, eyeing him up and down before running a hand through his hair and going back to his phone. "Go away, don't you have a house of your own?"
Born from the ashes, like a phoenix, a new heart ascends into its place in Jisung's chest. It glows golden, cleans up the mess the previous one had caused, and then dims in order to start beating normally. As if nothing monumental had happened— as if the sign that displayed the days without an accident in Brain's office weren't back to zero.
Jisung's stunned into enlightened understanding without warning, slapped across the face with clear-as-day new rules:
- You are irrevocably in love with Jeongin now.
- He is the hottest person you've ever met and you will be reminded of this every time you look at him. Oh— there it is. It's happening right now. Yeah. Isn't he sexy?
- You are so in love with him, holy shit.
- Your attempts at kissing him will genuinely kill you if you keep them up. You will not be keeping them up.
- But you will dream about the moment. Right. That moment. When you're going in, and he turns just in time, and— I don't wanna spoil. You'll find out tonight. And the night after that. And the night after that. And the night after that.
- Do you need me to say it again?
"I do!" Jisung exclaims loudly, making Jeongin jump and fumble with his phone so it won't slip between his fingers and crash on the floor. "Have a home, I mean. I bet my four walls are missing me terribly. Thank you for, uh, reminding me of them."
He springs from the couch and marches toward the door, where he finds his shoes and starts to undo the laces. Seungmin, Jeongin's roommate, pulls off his earphones just to hear him attempt to put them on in a hurry while cursing under his breath. He bounces in one foot, trips over his own sneaker and, just as he begins to fall in embarrassingly ridiculous fashion, Jisung feels an arm wrap around his waist to keep him standing.
"Are you okay?" Jeongin asks, clearly bewildered by his sudden outburst. He bends down to grab the other shoe without letting go, hand still holding onto Jisung's side, and his breath is all over his neck when he straightens back up. "You seem… agitated."
Jisung jumps away from his touch, takes a coat off the hanger and slips his arms right through, enduring the way the sleeves underneath bunch up in the process for the sake of being quick. "I've never been better."
"That's my coat," Seungmin intervenes.
"Sharing is caring," Jisung argues, sticking his tongue out at him. Then, he looks over at Jeongin and snatches his shoe back from his grip. "That's mine, though."
Jeongin blinks once, twice. "Okay."
"Ah, fuck. Fuck, shit," Jisung whines pitifully as he twists the doorknob and steps out with a socked foot still in need of cover. Jeongin leans against the threshold to continue observing, casual and so very boy in the sharp lines of his angled body that he leaves Jisung no choice but cry some more. "Stop it. Stop it right now."
"He's finally lost his mind," Seungmin says, standing a few steps behind Jeongin with his arms crossed over his chest and both earbuds out to be fully present for Jisung's breakdown. "Honestly, I thought it would take longer."
Jeongin shakes his head, still trying to get his thoughts to make at least an inkling of sense, and Jisung meets Seungmin's eyes over his (really fucking wide— wider than the first time they met, at least, because Jeongin's been working out and building muscle in places Jisung would rather not think about now) shoulders. That faux innocent puppy face represents everything he fears at this moment in time: Seungmin knows exactly what has set Jisung on fire, and he's in possession of a mouth that speaks— the worst threat of all on such a devilish soul.
Desperately, Jisung sticks out his naked foot and points at it with the shoe that's supposed to be on it. Look at me, his puffed cheeks try to convey, I'm just a little dude. A stupid one, at that. Isn't that so sad? He briefly wonders if he should beg on his knees, as well, but thankfully pointing out his misery seems to work on its own.
"Just make sure to return my coat," Seungmin sighs.
Jisung would kiss him if Jeongin wasn't in the way; an obstacle for his and Seungmin's precipitate romance in a literal and emotional sense. He would kiss him if his lips weren't undergoing lockdown and the passcode to the bunker wasn't Jeongin's fingerprint. He would plant a good one on Seungmin— the best one!— if he weren't in such a pathetic hurry to take a nap, embarrassingly eager to get to that dream the new Heart in charge talked about. Jeongin turns and then what?
"Sure," Jisung says, grinning widely and awakening more suspicion on Jeongin's face. Wow. Why are his eyebrows the best set of eyebrows Jisung has seen in his entire life? And why on Earth is that attractive? Oh, right. Rule 2. He needs to sit down and read the official papers in earnest. "Uh. Bye, then."
He starts to walk down the hallway in a way that would solicit a laugh track in a basic sitcom, trying to fit his foot into his sneaker when it's up in the air for each awkward step and missing every single time. The plot fits the type, too, and would probably even grant them a few seasons: everyone's a sucker for the best friend trope, the realization, the 'oh' in italics. Oh. That's what the explosion meant. Oh.
The camera pans to Jeongin after Jisung's made his way out of the building with his shoe fitting him like a slipper, and the first episode ends with a shake of the head and a door pushed closed.
.
He and Jeongin will be friends, sure, but the forever part now makes Jisung punch his pillow and push a 2-second yell full of feelings against it whenever he thinks about it. Like— nothing more? For the rest of their lives. That seems a little excessive, doesn't it? Maybe 'friends' will always be there even if it's attached to something else. Boy, for example. He could be Jisung's boyfriend, that way there's friendship but there's also boy, and Jisung could stop fucking dreaming about it.
(Jeongin turns at the right time and they kiss, by the way. That's what happens. Jisung's lips fit between Jeongin's, and Jeongin actually enjoys it, eyes crinkling when he smiles and asks Jisung for just one more. Jisung's mouth meets Jeongin's, and then Jisung tells a dumb joke that makes him laugh the way Jisung loves the most: loud, high-pitched, with the cute breathe-ins he does in between feeling like a tender smooch themselves.)
Jisung wakes up with a smile, and later stares at his reflection in the mirror after he's done brushing his teeth. He can't remember when the constant pleading for a kiss started, or how it turned into a running joke— he'd never put much thought behind it until now that it's all his head can supply whenever there's a moment available. But he knows that Jeongin is adamant in keeping him at arm's length as soon as he puckers his lips, so… is it really right for him to enjoy the scenario this much?
"Do you feel bad when you dream about you and one of your friends kissing and stuff?"
"Jisung, don't move," Hyunjin scolds him. He holds the two strands of hair he's selected over his nose and places the scissors right beneath his fingers. "I don't. It's fun, actually."
Jisung accommodates the hand mirror in front of his face, as he'd been instructed the moment Hyunjin walked into his room to tell him he wanted to cut his bangs. Their bathroom has nothing but a cabinet above the sink, mirror-less and not at all helpful for improvised makeovers, so Jisung was roped into his Tuesday night shenanigans without having much of a choice.
"Fun?" Jisung questions with a frown. "How?"
Hyunjin threatens to make the cut, then chickens out, lowering the scissors for a moment. "It's entertaining. Like, I'd never kiss you in real life, so when it happens there it's funny, because why am I on your lap and with my tongue down your throat right now?" He chuckles. "It makes no sense."
Jisung's eyes almost fall out of their sockets. "You've dreamed about me?"
"Jisung, we've had steamy dream sex so many times."
There's a fleeting moment spent in contemplative silence, and then Jisung's curiosity gets the best of him. "Was I good?" He pries.
Hyunjin scrunches his nose and bobbles his head side to side while gesturing with the hand still holding the scissors. "Meh."
Jisung laughs. "Fuck you."
"Don't move," Hyunjin insists, measuring the desired length of his bangs once more. "I'm really gonna do it this time."
The situation isn't the same, though. Hyunjin would never kiss Jisung in real life, while actively trying to get his lips on Jeongin is what brought Jisung this dilemma to begin with. Jisung hasn't been able to get out of the italicization of oh (Arial, size 12) and consequently his every Jeongin thought since the coin dropped, and the way dream Hyunjin and Jisung fuck is just a goofy Comic Sans. Or whatever. Brain is having a hard time re-building the system from the ground, and Jisung's rationality hasn't been stabilized just yet.
Hyunjin pulls him back into the moment with an exasperated huff. Jisung realizes he's been offering a tilted reflection and hurries to fix it. "Okay, stop. What's else are you not telling me?"
"I actually want to kiss this person outside of my dreams," Jisung admits, thankful for the chance to hide his blush behind the mirror in hand.
"And you feel bad? Why?
"Because I don't think they'd want me to kiss them."
"But you have no control over what you dream of," Hyunjin says, like it's really that simple to kill Jisung's guilt. It doesn't get rid of it entirely, but it helps. "Count to three for me."
"One—"
The scissors snip the ends with a slashing sound that makes both of them hold their breath. A myriad of blonde hairs fall to the floor and on their pants with a gentle sway, and Jisung doesn't bother waiting for permission before tilting his chin to look over the mirror. Hyunjin's wide eyes meet his own, incredulous silence drowning the room, and then they're coming up for air to burst into crazed laughter.
"Oh my God, I did it," Hyunjin squeals, gathering the proof of it in his hands and watching as it slips through the gaps between his fingers. "What a night."
"Yeah… Hey, d'you wanna know something crazy I found out, like, three days ago?" Jisung prompts.
Hyunjin looks at him like he's stupid for uttering such a question. "Uh, duh. I always wanna know everything."
Jisung licks his lips, then swallows dry. "I'm in love with Jeongin."
"Cheers to that," Hyunjin says, throwing the hairs left in his fist in the air as if it were confetti. "Love is a beautiful thing."
"Ugh, Hyunjin— a month from now I'm still gonna find these on my clothes," Jisung says while plucking blonde after blonde off of his shirt.
Hyunjin pushes his new bangs back and seems pretty pleased with how they fall back into place, framing his face. "Not if you shower. Or do your laundry."
"Shut up," Jisung smacks him on the knee, too soft for it to be charged with anything other than playfulness. "What do I do about the Jeongin thing?"
"The love part, or the dreams?"
"Both. They're intertwined."
Hyunjin shrugs. "I don't know what you want me to say. You can love him and dream about him all you want, Sung."
When he was a kid, Jisung wanted a dog so badly that when his mother confessed she was allergic he cried for fifteen hours straight, face puffy and glistening with snot. At fifteen he wanted to spend the rest of his life with his first ever girlfriend, and then she broke up with him to date some guy that was twice his size in height and musculature. Jisung's wanted a lot of things in his life, and the times it has led nowhere outnumber the ones he's actually gotten what he wished for— wanting is a dangerous journey for someone with a history like his.
And Jisung needs to be careful, because he already wants a lot: every opportunity in the world to make Jeongin laugh, to never miss the tender pronunciation of the word hyung coming out of his mouth, to watch his smile bloom enough times to never forget it. To keep going would be growing greedy and, most importantly, it would be useless. Jeongin's been clear. It's how it is, and it's fine.
"Do you still have that bleaching product?" Jisung asks.
Hyunjin grins, hands up and clenched into fists to shake them enthusiastically in the air. "What a night!"
.
Jisung doesn't realize just how often he tries to sneak in a smooch until he starts forcing himself to hold back. Sometimes it's as simple as Jeongin innocuously tilting his head to the side to fend annoying strands off his face and exposing his cheekbones in their full glory, or as purposeful as the cute peace signs he throws next to his face whenever he wants Jisung to do something for him. He will dig his nails into his palms as a result of cuteness-aggression mixed with his newfound romantic feelings, and he'll pour such effort into not acting according to them that he'll be forced to take a deep breath as soon as the threat is gone. Okay. I lived through this one.
If Rule 2 is true…
Jeongin emerges from the bathroom with his hair wet and a slight pink to his cheeks thanks to his hot water shower. He's wearing the shirt Jisung left behind last week as well as the same pajama pants he's slept in since childhood— old, school shorts with his name embroidered on the side, Yang Jeongin written in shiny green thread. Jisung finds that his eyes are immediately drawn to skin, like a gross Victorian man that's never seen an ankle other than his own, and so he's stunned by a pair of legs.
They're slim yet built. Graceful, almost. Jisung tries not to look as the muscles shift and contract with his every move, taking a detour from his direct path to the couch to grab his computer and then plopping down next to him. He lies horizontally with his head on Jisung's lap and his knees bent so his feet won't have to dangle over the armrest, and the short rides up, so it's suddenly all thighs thighs thighs. Jisung seriously needs to get a grip, run outside and eat the grass rather than merely touching it.
… why would Rule 4 be a lie?
"What should we watch?" Jeongin asks, sliding his index over the mousepad to pull up Netflix. When he looks up to find Jisung's gaze he tenses, and his eyes narrow— as if readying himself to act quicker than the mouth he's been avoiding for years.
But Jisung's already pinched himself hard ten times by the time that happens. It doesn't help to forget how easy it would be to trap Jeongin's face by the cheeks and bend down, like he would've done if the bomb hadn't gone off, if he'd remained oblivious, if it were still a joke, but it gives him the chance to reply. "I don't know. Is there anything new? We've watched most of the catalog."
"Oh. Uh," Jeongin blinks, the preview for some movie starting to play as the platform waits for them to search for something. He frowns, blinks some more, and then directs his eyes back to the screen. "That new zombie show everyone's been talking about looks promising."
"Sure."
Jeongin starts to type in the name. "Can you see well from there, or should I sit up?"
Jisung may be going on a kiss-less lifestyle, but it doesn't mean he'd throw away the chance to run his hands through Jeongin's hair. "I'm fine, just tilt the screen back a little."
"Mmkay."
When zombies twitch and growl a little too suddenly, Jeongin turns his head to the side but keeps an eye open to continue watching despite the jumpscare. His nose grazes Jisung's stomach the first two times, and Jisung's throat doesn't rumble with the usual teasing because it's too busy swallowing a nervous lump. There's neither a boisterous: Iyen-ah baby, you're scared? Hyung will protect you! nor an offering of a kiss to distract him from the bad monsters. The room is silent except for the grunting and fighting on screen, and it's unlikely.
Watching movies and shows with Jeongin is adding commentary that spirals into heated debates, or turns into a joke they milk the shit out of for a month, or becomes a serious conversation. This means that more often than not a 40 minute episode will extend to an hour and a half due to constant pausing and rewinding. Jeongin hasn't hit the space bar once since he pushed it down to start the one they're watching now, and he's frowning again, the weirdness of Jisung's behavior catching up to him.
"Hate when zombies are, uh, fast," Jisung says dumbly, noticing his unusual quietness as well.
"That's the first thing you've said in thirty minutes."
"You haven't said much, either," Jisung shrugs.
Jeongin huffs, knowing Jisung is right and disliking the taste of defeat. "Well— do you think you'd survive an apocalypse like this?"
"Alone?" Jisung hums for a moment, even if the answer is on his tongue barely a second into the thinking process. "Not really."
"What about with me?"
Jisung's hand comes to a stop, tangled in dark strands that peek from in-between. The frown is gone, but Jeongin's eyes still roam his face with purpose— like he can't exactly pinpoint what's different despite his tries. Jisung clears his throat and resumes the gentle running of his fingers through Jeongin's hair.
"Maybe," He says. If he and Jeongin were the last people in the world, perhaps he wouldn't bottle his feelings up. How ironic— the end of life as they know it seems to be the one occasion where romance wouldn't be as difficult. "If we forced Minho hyung to come with us."
Jeongin's eyebrow lifts up. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I not enough?"
Jisung is too late to bite back the smile that pulls at his lips, or to fight against the tempting call to give in to the habits he's been trying to resist all evening. He pinches Jeongin's cheeks with his free hand and his voice jumps to a higher pitch. "Mmh, what's this? My Innie is jealous? Cute!"
"Hyung—" Jeongin bats his affectionate hands away while pushing his head back, yet the corners of his mouth betray a hint of fun.
Jisung laughs. "Last time we went camping as a group, you said that lighting a fire and setting up a tent was how our grandparents probably used to live. And you meant it."
"I was joking," Jeongin whines.
"And I fell on my butt while carrying sticks, like, what— five times?" Jisung recalls. Jeongin breathes out a chuckle at the memory of his clumsy limbs, and how he'd spent half of the night on the ground thanks to them. "We're dead if Minho hyung doesn't tag along."
"Okay, okay," Jeongin concedes, his wide grin pushing his cheeks up and adding to the eye-smile that everyone's fallen for at some point. Jisung thinks he might be the only one that still hasn't found a way to stand up. "You're right."
The explosion was necessary to give way to this new heart of steel— Jisung understands that now. It beats rapidly, pump after pump knocking against his ribcage, but it's stronger and it can carry his love for Jeongin just fine, even if he's so, so full of it. It toughened up to bravely deal with the weight, and Jisung should do the same. Friends forever is a perfect wish. He'll still coax breathless laughs out of him and have moments like these.
A scream redirects their attention to the computer, where someone's getting bitten by a hoard of zombies. Jisung takes advantage of the hand he's got on Jeongin to tap the center of his forehead annoyingly a couple times. "Go back, go back, go back."
Jeongin swats him away. "I got it the first time."
.
The rules had said it three times, emphasized the realization till exhaustion, yet Jisung still gets hit with the knowledge like it's a boxing-gloved hand coming straight for his face. Like, damn— he's really in love with Jeongin.
The itch to kiss him remains, but it's gradually overtaken but an even deeper yearn for closeness of any kind. An arm around Jeongin's shoulders, a nudge with his hips while they're walking. Sometimes it's not even physical: silence shared in the comfort of each other's company or, in contrast, a hushed conversation about their worries. He's always been on the touchy side, eager fingers wiggling their way through life in search for the next subject of his affections, but no one's ever made him wish for contact like this before.
He doesn't think he would've been able to tell the difference prior to the Jeongin Big Bang, anyway. In theory, the way Jisung clings to him is the exact same way he holds onto Hyunjin or Felix all of the time, but in practice there's something else, the original detonator for every fire that ignites within him on a smaller scale since The Explosion: intimacy. It's so fucking cheesy and Jisung fucking loves cheesy things— he feels like he's on cloud nine half of the time, and he's written five different songs in three weeks.
The original panic has definitely subdued. Jeongin's his friend, he's in love with him, and the world is still following its daily route around the sun. Now it's just nice, because loving someone is sweet before it gets bitter. Jisung will make the most out of it.
"I forgot my wallet," Jisung pouts, one hand still buried deep into his backpack and pushing things around despite having lost all hope.
Jeongin reaches for his own and slides on Seungmin's pair of flip-flops. "That's fine, hyung. I can pay."
Here's a new game Jisung finds interesting to play these days: What Would Past Jisung Do? The answer is more often than not be an annoyance. He would drop his bag and run over to Jeongin before he could leave through the door to go down and get the pizza from the delivery guy, and he would chase after him with his lips until the door closed on his face once Jeongin escaped. It's still hard for present-day Jisung not to try and kiss his dough-esque cheeks every chance he gets, but it's even harder to pretend he doesn't smooch him in that recurring dream at least two nights a week.
Damn. Jisung blushes, having guided his mind toward it again without meaning to. Here's a question he also happens to ask himself lately: how the fuck did the explosion take so long? Like— Jesus Christ.
"Oh, great," He says. "Thanks."
Jeongin lingers, fingers clasped around the handle yet unmoving, like he's never heard Jisung be grateful for something before. They look at each other for a moment that stretches a little too long and spills a kind of awkwardness they haven't felt while together since the first month of getting to know one another. It's in bucketfuls, all over their feet— Jisung leans back on his heels, then resumes his previous position, and he swears he can hear it splash. Probably aware of it in a similar, unavoidable way, Jeongin clears his throat and finally pulls the door open.
"I'll be back in a bit," He says. "Set the table?"
"Sure. Do I count Seungmin, or nah?"
Jeongin shakes his head. "He's staying the night at Channie-hyung's place."
"Alright."
Well, Jisung thinks, as Jeongin's summer-y shoewear flips and flops accordingly as he hurries down the hallway. He pulls out two plates, two glasses, no utensils because they're normal people who use their hands. That was really weird.
.
It happens again. And it's not just Jeongin frowning at him, this time— it's Changbin and Felix as well. Jeongin has just puffed out his cheeks for a bite of Jisung's hamburger, all Kirby-like and unbearably adorable, and Jisung offered a simple nod as he unwrapped a bigger section of his meal for him to take as he pleased.
He really cannot pinpoint any reason why he's got three of his friends looking at him as if he'd grown a second head in the five seconds it took him to be a good, caring person. He squirms under their gazes.
"Do you feel okay?" Felix asks, worry etched into his knitted eyebrows.
Jisung blinks, confused. "Yeah, why wouldn't I?"
"I'm so glad you said something about it," Jeongin sags against his chair in relief and speaks around the mouthful of Jisung's burger he'd successfully acquired. "I thought I was going insane."
Changbin props his elbows on the table and joins his hands, resting his cheek atop his intertwined fingers and sporting a serious face. "How long has this been going on?"
"What are you talking about?" Jisung leans in to beg to be let into the actual meaning behind the conversation, still lacking sense from his point of view. "Hello?"
"Almost a month," Jeongin replies.
Changbin's eyebrows shoot up, and Felix's small hand flies up to cover his mouth. Jeongin looks at them with wide eyes as he shakes his head, silently expressing his helplessness. I don't know what to do, either. It's funny that Jisung can easily pick up on that yet miss the meaning behind everything that's being said out-loud— maybe if Jeongin relayed the full message through his eyes, Jisung would get it right.
"Has he said anything?" Felix asks tentatively, sneaking a side-glance in Jisung's direction. It's not as subtle as he thinks it is.
"Oh, what the— he?" Jisung exclaims in disbelief. He points at himself with both of his index fingers. "I'm right here!"
Changbin and Felix let their eyes trail somewhere else, gazes wandering a little too much around the boring, every-day sights of their favorite fast food place to not be searching for an escape route. Jeongin doesn't shy away from Jisung's demanding stare, but he does try to deflect in his own way.
"Can I have another bite?" He asks.
Jisung squints at him to show he's not happy with this lack of answers but pushes the remaining half of his burger toward him anyway. "Yeah, I'm full."
He's not, and it's clear by the way he reaches over to steal some of Changbin's fries right after he says it. His hyung is too late to stop the crime from taking place, and he's appalled by Jisung's audacity to lie to him without even bothering to hide it. Jeongin smiles around what is now his burger as Changbin shoves the five fries he's been left with into his mouth, rolling his eyes.
"Of course," He grumbles. Felix pats his back in sympathy. "False alarm, guys. Jisung's perfectly fine."
.
"Blonde suits you."
Jisung looks up from where he'd been fighting to untie the invincible knot his shoelaces have apparently become, sitting at the edge of the bed. "Huh?"
"Blonde suits you," Jeongin repeats. He turns to lie on his side, witnessing Jisung's struggles from the other end. "Forgot to tell you when you first dyed it."
"Uh, thanks," Jisung tries to fit his nail somewhere, anywhere to loosen the fucking thing. He brings his eyes back down to his feet, and if it's also a way to hide the heat climbing up his neck that is a mere coincidence. "The result of impulse and Hyunjinnie being in the same room as me when it hit. A horrible combination."
Jeongin smiles lightly. "I like it."
Jisung pretends to brush Jeongin's compliment off with a bashful move of his wrist. "Stop it, you."
Jeongin pairs his fond chuckle with a roll of his eyes just as Jisung decides: fuck it. He lifts his foot and grabs the back of the shoe, pushing it forcibly along his heel and off entirely, then does the same with the other one, laces equally as glued together. Once free, he crawls onto the mattress and takes his place on the left side of the bed, burying into Jeongin's pillows with a sigh.
It still smells like the cologne Jisung had sprinkled all over himself yesterday before coming over for this exact same thing. It's not the first time a sleepover of theirs extends to an extra day. The record is a week, but it'd had to be cut short because Seungmin was tired of seeing Jisung walking around in boxers. Jeongin's house-nudity is one he accepts for roommate reasons, but he'd had to draw the line somewhere with the guy who doesn't live there— even if he acts like it every time he walks through the door.
"Please have mercy on our eyes," Seungmin had begged.
"Yours and who else's?" Jisung had argued, sprawled on the couch and with Jeongin's legs on his lap. "I've never heard Innie complaining."
Seungmin had looked like he'd rather live anywhere else than on the same planet as the two men in front of him. Sometimes, when they acted obtuse about the very evident energy between them, he fantasized about turning into a rocket and launching himself to the fucking moon.
He'd blinked, deadpan. "I wonder why."
"I'll kick him out after this movie," Jeongin had said, ignoring Jisung's indignant gasp.
And he did. By the time the credits had started rolling in, Jisung was slipping his pants onto his legs to go back home. Maybe now that Seungmin's been spending more and more nights at his boyfriend's place, he can go past the old seven days. Is aiming for two weeks too ambitious?
"Did you brush your teeth?" Jeongin asks, snapping Jisung out of his thoughts. He pries a single eye open to regard his question.
"Yeah. Why?"
"Because I don't want your stinky breath all in my face."
"Some people," Jisung starts, a hand up and with his index finger standing like he's saying something of utmost importance. "Would kill to have my breath so close."
Jeongin lifts an eyebrow. "Kill?"
"Ugh. Just let me have one thing," Jisung whines.
"Fine," Jeongin agrees. "You can have those cuddles you always ask for."
Jisung's brain hovers over the EMERGENCY button again, a trembling hand ready to act. He holds himself up on his elbows, looking at Jeongin with wide eyes. "What?"
"You sleep better if you're hugging something, or someone. You've said it yourself," Jeongin explains easily, like there isn't much more to it than Jisung's usual clinginess. He shrugs. "You can hug me tonight."
There's no fucking protocol for this, Brain thinks angrily, and kicks its desk over before leaving Jisung to fend for himself. At least his heart stays in place, pumping fast in both excitement and fear, rising color to his cheeks as he tries to find the words that will make him sound composed— totally normal about the idea of being Jeongin's big spoon.
"Cool," He says, voice pitching higher on the vowel and turning him back into a pubescent teenager.
Well. That was an atrocious selection.
"Yeah. Cool," Jeongin mocks him, amusement dancing in his eyes and tugging at the corners of his mouth. He turns, the bed creaking under his shifted weight, and steals a glance over his shoulder at Jisung's motionless body. "Come on. Before I change my mind."
His brain isn't there to be rational, to remind him of the dangers of getting a taste at cuddling with Jeongin after the explosion did a number on his defenses, weakening them to paper-thin thickness. He's vulnerable, and so fucking in love, which is the same thing. His heart chants we want this, we want this badly, and Jisung has no other choice but to listen, sliding a hand around Jeongin's waist and pressing his chest against his back.
"I'm gonna tell everyone about this moment," He whispers. No need to raise his voice when he's got him so close— when he's in his arms. "We're making history, Innie."
Jeongin kicks his calf lightly. "No one will believe you."
Oh, that's a given, he thinks. Jisung's still trying to convince himself this is happening, and he's not so sure he'll reach full-belief by the time he wakes up, either. He nuzzles the back of Jeongin's neck, waits for the recoil, and bites back a pathetic gasp when it doesn't come— when Jeongin sighs. Jisung knows exasperation, exhaustion, giving up, but this is none of that; this is… pleased, almost. Content?
(When's Brain coming back? He's gotta be imagining things.)
"But I'll remember," Jisung says, tightening his grip playfully. "And you will, too. I should make you sign something, like: I, Yang Jeongin, participated in cuddle-time with Han Jisung."
"I won't go anywhere near that paper if you call it cuddle-time," Jeongin determines, a teasing lilt to his voice that reminds Jisung of his deathly smirk. Is he doing it, right now? He's too much of a chicken to check, although his heart begs for a peek. "No one needs proof if it's just ours."
Are his eyes closed? Jisung splays a hand over Jeongin's stomach and traces a short path with his thumb over the shirt, seeking to feed him the sense of safety Heart won't stop asking about. Is he at peace in Jisung's embrace? The mere thought is a step too close into dangerous territory— a minefield. It's only a matter of time until his foot lands on another detonator, perhaps even bigger. Louder.
He licks his lips and asks, "Our what?"
"Moment," Jeongin replies. He shifts a little to burry deeper into his pillow, Jisung's arm a weight that helps his shirt ride up at the waist. Everywhere Jisung looks— the skin revealed, the slight pink of Jeongin's ears, the perfect fit of their bodies against one another— is an explosive with his name on it. "This is between us. I don't care what… I don't know, Changbin hyung has to say about it."
"I'll tell hyung you said that."
"Oh, he's aware," Jeongin snorts.
Jisung breathes out a weak laugh and gulps, resting his forehead against the back of Jeongin's neck, who sighs again. When he pinpoints the feeling of it, Jisung's even more sure sleep is getting to him; that these are the beginnings of a dream. Jisung's touch, Jeongin's sounds— it's relief. He closes his eyes but still wanders further into the idea. Did Jeongin want this? Does he want this, and will he, when the sun wakes them up? When Seungmin gets home and it's no longer just theirs?
Jisung breathes out a sigh of his own.
.
When Brain makes its return, the underlying doubt is palpable and heavy enough for it to know it's a matter that needs attention above others. Alongside it, in a shocking contrast, it finds Heart waltzing to no music inside the office, eyes closed as it jumps and twirls around the desk, still knocked over. Ten minutes, it thinks. I left for ten minutes. How have we fallen even deeper?
.
Sure, that whole night was a surprise, but it had a logical base to stand on, perhaps even an altruistic one. A wholesome interest in Jisung sleeping in perfect conditions. And maybe they repeated it for the next three days (Jisung the little spoon on the last one), but again— logic. Friendship. So when Hyunjin makes a passing comment about Jeongin acting differently, Jisung doesn't think about that at all. Why would he?
Instead, he thinks of the fleeting back hugs and hip-squeezes he's been receiving; of Jeongin's face being too close to his own enough times in the past week for the fingers in his hands to be insufficient in keeping track. He recalls how he'd first thought he was breaking the rules and falling into old, self-destructive habits only to realize he wasn't chasing anymore; that lately, there's no need. Jeongin brings it to him on a silver platter: I'll be your waiter for the night, sir. What will you order? My tempting, pink lips? Coming right up!
He should've recognized the signs, sensed the familiarity. He should've warned him, but by the time Jisung realizes Jeongin's a ticking bomb himself, it's too late. He blows up on a random Saturday, on the third reach of his hand into the popcorn bowl just as Jisung's about to dig in as well. He stops halfway to let Jeongin grab a fistful without any obstacles and unknowingly lights up the trail that leads to the deathly wick. Tick, tock, tick, tock—
Jeongin drops what he'd collected in his frustrated grip, some kernels flying to the floor. "What is wrong with you?"
Frustration translates into an angry pull of his eyebrows, and Jisung's eyes, wide as dinner plates, dare to only blink once. Of course Jeongin wouldn't flee, still standing after the chaos tied to the boom. Of course he's chosen to sort it out in seconds without the need for a zombie apocalypse. He's not a coward like me, Jisung thinks.
"What do you mean?" He asks, swallowing a nervous lump in his throat as his cheeks heat up, shying from the chance to admit everything.
"You haven't tried to touch me in, like, what— four months? You've been avoiding it, avoiding me," Jeongin, finally able to pinpoint the strangeness in Jisung's behavior, wastes no time bringing it to light. His face lets go of some of its tension when his expression morphs into genuine confusion. "I don't understand why. Did I do something?"
"What? No. It's not you—"
Jeongin squints at him. "Don't even try that."
Jisung props his elbows on his knees and hides his face in his hands, fingertips pressing against his forehead. "I thought you hated it."
"I never said that," Jeongin says, like he can't fathom why he'd reach that conclusion. Jisung scoffs against his palms. "Hyung, I don't."
"You always fight it."
"It's a game. It's always been. It's a game," Jeongin repeats. "You shoot, I duck."
"I don't want to play anymore," Jisung confesses. He drops his hands, lets them hang between his legs as he takes a deep breath. "I'm tired of… missing every shot. Wasting bullets."
"You think it's a waste?"
Jisung glances at him and tries to convey what can't be said through words with a look. A crash of ideas— never when it's you coexisting with it's been one since I realized I could never have you— paired with a defeated tilt of his head. "Am I supposed to keep trying?"
"That's what you were doing?" Jeongin asks. The venom behind catches Jisung off guard, as well as the glassy layer washing over Jeongin's eyes. "It's not shit aiming when it's on purpose. You're the one who makes sure it's always a joke. I followed."
"It's not!" Jisung's volume goes up slightly. He shakes his head and closes his eyes, thinking Jeongin's words over. "Or it was, but now it's not. I don't know, Innie. It took me a while to see it. What was I— what am I supposed to do?"
They fall silent, and Jisung notices that the discussion has widened the gap between them, bodies facing forward and at the TV instead of leaning into each other. He hates it. Was his choice to hide stalling this moment, or was it exactly what propelled it into existence? Jisung digs his teeth into his bottom lip, bounces his leg up and down.
"Kiss me."
Whisper-like, the words hover above them for a second. A hot flash of pain climbs Jisung's neck when he turns, but he ignores it in favor of staring at Jeongin's face. Rubbing at his nape, he presses, "What?"
"Don't miss," Jeongin's skin turns rosy, a sight Jisung knows yet now feels like he's discovering for the first time. "I'm not ducking— I stopped doing it weeks ago."
Jisung's fingers trace the lines of his jaw before locking in place, grazing behind Jeongin's ear and caressing the pinkest spots of his cheekbones, and it's different from the start. As an involuntary response, Jisung utters a disbelieving laugh, and the corners of Jeongin's mouth quirk at the sound. There's intention guiding every breath, every touch, and all rules except for one vanish into thin air the moment their lips meet. No games, no jokes.
You are so in love with him, holy shit.
Jeongin's arm wraps around Jisung's waist, a hand splayed on his back that grabs a fistful of shirt when Jisung pushes, eager, and lets his own limbs follow their needs as his knees settle on the couch and help him get to destination. Jeongin welcomes him on top, mouths working overtime to stay glued through each shift of their bodies. Their hearts burned for this, so it would feel as good as it does— so the fire would consume them to melt leftover apprehensions and not their insides.
Pleasant warmth, everywhere.
"I've dreamed of this," Jisung admits, panting against Jeongin's lips. "Felt kind of guilty, told Hyunjin about it."
"I've dreamed of worse," Jeongin chuckles, then raises a teasing eyebrow as his hands begin to roam Jisung's body as they please. Thighs, hips, lower back. "Or better, from my point of view."
"Really?" Jisung's eyes glint with delight. He sits up fueled by excitement and causes Jeongin's touch to slip away, the younger's pout fleeting so as to go unnoticed. He has to keep at least a bit of his image up. "Speak. Now."
"Later," He promises. Greedy fingers stretch Jisung's shirt collar as they tug, tug, tug, and it's almost as if last night's dream never came to an end. "Wanna kiss you again."
.
- You are irrevocably in love with Jeongin. He might be, too. Be patient.
- He is the hottest person you've ever met and you will be reminded of this every time you look at him. You're allowed to do so now. He likes it— sexy and all yours.
- You are so in love with him, holy shit.
- Your kisses will be reciprocated. Expected. Wanted. As long as Jeongin looks at you like that, softness crowding sharp eyes, you'll keep them up.
- You'll still dream about the moment. When you're going in, and he turns just in time, and you become one. Sometimes, it won't be a dream at all.
- Do you need me to say it again?